A Love Laid Bare

by Constance Hussey

  “The gate was unlatched. No one who lives or works here would leave it so—all the gates are kept closed and latched. Also, there is evidence that a horse and wagon stood close by for some time and there are tracks leading in from the lane and out again.”

  “And this went unnoticed?” Frances heard the accusatory note in her voice and swallowed. “I’m sorry,” she said again, this time addressing the men. “I suppose most of you were occupied with the flooding.”

  “Yes, and I suspect whoever this is used that to their advantage. Normally, an unknown wagon would be remarked upon,” Halcombe said tersely.

  “What can we do?” Frances surveyed the solemn-faced group around them. They were immensely loyal to her and her husband. She knew they would search for and find ‘their’ Lady Flora, whatever it took.

  Summerton approached the small gathering. “Jim is organizing several search parties. Someone will visit every house and property in the area.”

  The earl nodded and turned to the young groom who had aided Frances the day of her fall. “Mathew, find that cousin of yours who is skilled in tracking and tell him we need his help here.” Mathew took off at a run and Halcombe sent the others to ask Jim where they would be the most useful. “Let him know that Rawlins is coming and that we will wait for him. I don’t want any signs disturbed before he has a chance to see them.”

  Frances made a soft sound of protest. They had to start now!

  Halcombe caught her arm and looked over her head at Summerton. “Colin, will you oversee the arrangements? I will be there in a few minutes.”

  The viscount strode swiftly toward the stables and Halcombe gripped Frances’ shoulders. “Rawlins has an uncanny tracking ability. It’s worth a few minutes to wait for him. If we hurry needlessly, some small sign may be lost.”

  Frances slumped against him, unshed tears burning her eyes. “But what if we are too late? If Flora is already…?”

  He held her close and laid his hand on her head. “Flora is unharmed,” he said firmly. “Think about it. Why bother with a wagon, or take Nancy if they meant to do her harm? No, my guess is they want something from us and they are using Flora to get it.”

  Frances raised her head. “Money? Flora has been stolen for money?”

  “Most likely. Whatever it is, we will agree to it. We will get our daughter back, safe and sound.” His voice sounded calm, positive.

  Frances stared into his eyes and saw the absolute certainty. She took a tremulous breath. “Yes, of course. What can I do to help?” She wanted to ride with them, but knew she would hold them back.

  He steered her in the direction of the house. “I am afraid yours is the hardest task. Wait here for a ransom note, which I truly believe will be forthcoming. Then get word to us as quickly as you can.”

  “A ransom note! Dear God. She is just a baby!”

  “I really must go. Frances…”

  “Go, please! Don’t worry about me. Just find her.” Frances’ voice broke and she pushed him away. The last thing he needed was a weeping, clinging woman who would only delay him further. She ran back to the house. Once she had gained the sanctuary of her chambers, she fought the sick terror that threatened to overwhelm her, pacing wildly around the room until her legs faltered. Collapsing onto a chair, she sought for the core of inner strength she knew she possessed. She had survived a near drowning, birthed a child far from hearth and kin, and battled valiantly for her home and her beloved. She could bear this.

  Frances rang for her maid. Her dress was clammy with perspiration. After a change of clothes, some soap and water, and a vigorous hair brushing, she was able to speak to the servants with calm assurance. Food and beverages had already been prepared for those combing the countryside. There was nothing else to be done. Nothing but wait as her dread deepened with every hour that passed.

  It was almost full dark when the earl and Summerton returned. Frances ordered a meal for them, which they wolfed down while relating what they had discovered.

  The kidnapper’s trail led to a town several hours drive from the Manor. Some of the residents had seen the wagon and reported that it was driven by a single man, dressed in rough clothing and wearing a wide-brimmed hat that obscured his face. They had, in fact, discovered the wagon. It had been abandoned in a wooded area outside the town. After closer examination, Rawlins had suggested that the kidnapper had changed vehicles there, as the most recent signs indicated a lighter carriage, almost certainly closed.

  “Why would a carriage be needed?” Frances asked when it seemed they had nothing else to tell. “Because Flora and Nancy are still prisoners?”

  Summerton nodded. “Exactly. Jim and a few of the others will try to determine the trail leading from the woods. They will start at first light, but with so many vehicles using that road, it is going to be difficult to follow any particular set of wheel tracks.”

  Were they saying the trail was lost? Was that why they had returned to the Manor? It was impossible to believe Halcombe or the viscount had simply given up.

  Richard seemed to hear her unspoken concerns. “I feel that the best place for us to be at this time is here. I am convinced we will be contacted—and soon. Once that happens, we will have to act quickly.”

  Frances locked the threatened sobs tightly in her chest and looked to both her husband and Lord Summerton. She offered them a tired smile. “The waiting has been difficult…I shall be glad to have someone to share it with.”

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  The ransom note arrived close to midnight. Frances had at last been persuaded to rest on the sofa in the library and Summerton was dozing in one of the large chairs. Halcombe envied his friend the ability to catnap when time was limited. He, however, was not so fortunate. It was impossible to sleep when his thoughts ran in circles, and the imagined cries of his daughter calling for him, resounded repeatedly in his head. Yet he had not lied to Frances. All his reasoning was valid. Flora’s abduction was no random, senseless act. No, it was personal, directed at him, or perhaps Frances. The why of it was driving him mad.

  He rose and poured out a short measure of brandy. He had avoided both wine and ale all evening. He did not want his mind muddled, but bloody hell…he felt so damn helpless!

  “My lord.”

  At the sound of Benson’s voice, the earl put aside the glass, his eyes drawn at once to the creased paper in the butler’s hand.

  “This was delivered a few minutes ago, sir. I detained the man who brought it, but do not believe he knows anything more than that he was paid well to bring it here at this hour.”

  “Thank you.” Halcombe took the letter and nodded a dismissal to Benson. He heard his wife’s quick inhalation as she approached from the corner of the room, her skirts rustling. Summerton stirred as well, coming forward to stand behind him

  “Richard?”

  Frances stared at the missive like it was a snake poised to strike. But despite the threat that it surely contained, it was nothing more than a sheet of paper, folded in three and sealed with a featureless lump of wax. He broke the seal, opened it, and read it aloud.

  Lord Halcombe,

  Lady Flora is unharmed, as is her nursemaid, and will remain so if my instructions are followed absolutely. Bring the Legacy Folio to Clifftop at noon tomorrow. Once I am satisfied as to the Folio’s authenticity, you will be given Lady Flora’s location. She is not at Clifftop, so any notion of a raid will avail you nothing and annoy me greatly. While harming innocents is not my habit, desperation drives, and in lieu of the Folio, I will, of necessity, be forced to pay my debts with your little ladies. I must stress that you come alone. Should you fail to do so, then I shall simply proceed with this alternative, albeit less desirable, arrangement.

  Jensen

  “Jensen? Paul Jensen?” Frances said with a look of bewilderment. “He has Flora? And what does he mean, pay his debts with the little ladies?” She stared at the earl, every drop of colour draining from her face as the import of Jensen’s words sank i
n. “He would sell them? Dear God!”

  “It will not happen, I swear to you.” Halcombe passed the note to Summerton and grabbed his unfinished brandy. He held the glass to Frances’ lips until she drank.

  “But we don’t even know where the Legacy is.” Her despondent whisper echoed softly in the tense silence.

  “Then we will just invent something good enough to fool him,” he said harshly.

  “Jensen is referring to the set of rare maps your father purchased? The ones that have never been recovered?” Summerton asked, his eyes on the letter in his hand.

  “Yes, damn him. There are four maps altogether. Some stupid legend purports that the Folio contains a secret message—a buried code. This code supposedly discloses the whereabouts of a hidden treasure. The concept had always fascinated Father. He apparently came across a passable reproduction at some point and attempted to decipher the code himself. He made little progress though, and was convinced that the copy was incomplete. After he died, I discovered pages and pages of his notes, but I could not make heads or tails of them. How he got his hands on the original, I never learned.”

  “We cannot duplicate something we’ve never seen! We need the original.” Frances’ mouth was set in a thin line. “The Folio is in this house,” she said brusquely, “and it is in a place your father could access handily. Collectors like to gloat over their acquisitions. They don’t hide them in attics or cellars.”

  Halcombe’s jaw clenched. “We’ve looked…”

  “Not thoroughly enough.” Her voice was cold and determined. “It has to be in this library. According to the servants, your father practically lived in this room the last year of his life.”

  “Every book on every shelf has already been moved—every shelf has been moved! I, too, was once desperate to find it, and I can tell you it is not here. We are only wasting time.” Halcombe felt his skin crawl with impatience. They needed a plan, some way to circumvent Jensen’s stipulations.

  “Listen to me, both of you,” Frances demanded, her voice shaking with the intensity of her words. “I saw something. I know I did—a discrepancy somewhere on the household blueprints. It has been nagging at me, but I cannot make sense of it. Maybe if you help…wait.” Frances raced from the room, rushing back moments later with several large rolled up papers. She dropped them on the floor, and then gripped Halcombe’s hands and tugged him forward.

  “An hour…give it one hour…and then I will help you make up some kind of replica. Please.” Her voice broke and she brushed angrily at her eyes.

  Summerton knelt and began to unroll a drawing from the top of the pile. “It won’t hurt to have a cursory look, I suppose,” he said quietly. “We have until dawn to come up with another course of action. This might be worth a try.” He glanced up at Frances. “Show us what bothered you.”

  Frances was still clinging to Richard’s arm. She stared at him, an unspoken plea in her fear-glazed eyes. She wanted his permission, he realized with amazement. Even with the horror fallen upon them, she would not gainsay him. His mouth flattened. It was a burden as well as a boon, this unstinting sign of her love and affection for him. Surely he could do as much in return.

  “Show us,” he repeated Summerton’s words and bent to kneel on the floor.

  Frances let out a harsh breath and knelt down beside them. “Look here, on this drawing—and on this one. She pushed the plan Summerton had unrolled just a few inches to the left and placed the other over the bottom portion. “Assuming the dates are correct, this particular room was altered around one hundred and fifty years ago. Actually, two smaller rooms were joined together. The addition of the loft, however, did not occur until some fifty years later. I thought it was strange that on the drawing the loft only partially extends over the length of the room, but when viewed visually reaches the entire distance.” Her face clouded with uncertainty. “I thought at first that it was just another oddity. This house has had so many unusual renovations that it abounds with architectural quirks.”

  Frances sat back on her heels and pushed her hair away from her face. “The library was not in need of anything but a good cleaning so, initially, I did not give it much attention.”

  “And you think this indicates a hidden chamber?” Halcombe asked.

  “I think it possible.”

  Although Frances had expressed a degree of doubt, there was conviction enough in her voice to cause the earl to set aside his skepticism and study the drawings more carefully. He stood and collected a pencil, a ruler, and some paper from a desk drawer.

  “This is not to scale, Colin. See if you can come up with a true length for the walls. There is a measuring line around here somewhere.”

  “I have one!” Frances jumped up and dashed out.

  Richard looked after her, a faint smile touching his mouth. Of course Frances would have a line handy. One never knew just what she had squirreled away. He looked down at the blueprint and then regarded the loft area. Perhaps it was possible…

  Frances reappeared in the doorway, flushed and somewhat breathless. “I spoke to Benson. He has asked that Mr. Bolling come up to the house.” She handed Halcombe the line and resumed her position on the floor so that she could re-examine the plans.

  Requesting the carpenter was a good idea, Halcombe thought. Few people on the estate would be sleeping this night, and indeed, Bolling arrived soon after.

  “I apologize for the late hour, Bolling, but we are in dire need of your expertise. Lady Halcombe feels there is an inconsistency between the dimensions of the room and the loft. I would like you to take some measurements so we can adjust the scale on this drawing. You call them out, and I will record them.” Bolling nodded. “We are hoping to locate some documents that might possibly be hidden behind a wall or panel. It does not have to be a very big space.”

  Halcombe was aware that he sounded rather gruff and he suspected his face was set into a cold, grim expression. But then the carpenter’s countenance wore much the same look.

  “Yes, sir.” Bolling clearly understood the sense of urgency and he crouched down to survey the drawings for himself. He studied the viscount’s notations and added a few of his own. “My lady is right about the loft being off-kilter,” he said as he stood up. “I’d like to take some measurements down here first.” Bolling paused. “But if there is anything to be found, I do feel it will be in the loft.”

  Halcombe leaned over to help Frances to her feet and then gave Summerton a hand. “Let’s put these on a table before we wear out our knees. Frances, why don’t you take down the numbers?” While the discomfort had been real enough—and was certainly a small price to pay—Halcombe recognized that his wife needed something to keep her mind busy. She was unnaturally calm now, her movements controlled, but the vacancy in her eyes chilled him.

  He gave her the pencil and a large, slim volume with a sheet of paper placed over it. “If you’ll do the honours, I will help Bolling.”

  It did not take them long, although every minute felt more like ten. The clock ticked off the time with relentless precision and the allotted hour was soon past. Halcombe decided to give it another thirty minutes. After that other plans would have to be made.

  “I’ll warrant it’s the loft, my lord,” Bolling said, studying the list of figures that Frances had diligently recorded. He rummaged in his tool carrier, stuffed several implements into his overall pockets, and climbed the ladder. “I may do some damage here, sir.”

  “You can tear down the whole damn thing, if need be,” Halcombe said, following behind him.

  Bolling made his way to the far end of the loft, pushed aside a chair and knelt to examine the wainscoting. The wood was dark with age and layers of varnish, but there were no marks or other peculiarities to indicate an opening.

  As the earl watched the tradesman’s careful examination of the wall, his hope began to dwindle. With only a quarter of the surface area left to be searched, he heard Frances’ soft footsteps behind him and he shifted to block her view
. Seeing the last of her optimism crumbling away was more than he could bear.

  “You should have stayed below,” he said quietly.

  “I want to be here, with you,” she said. “I…”

  Bolling suddenly called out to them with excitement. “Look here, sir! This section of the chair rail appears to have been cut—very precisely, too. The lines are barely visible.”

  The earl ran his hand over the indicated area. He could just about feel the paper-thin cuts with his fingers. “How does it open?”

  “There now, sir, that’s what I’m wondering myself. There must be some kind of mechanism but I don’t see anything.” Bolling banged his fist against the wall. “Sounds like the whole panel is false—a door, maybe.”

  “Pry it off,” Halcombe said sharply. He backed away and called down to Summerton and asked him to bring another lamp.

  Bolling pulled a chisel from his overalls, wedged it under the chair rail, and tapped it firmly with his hammer—again and again—until the wide board loosened and clattered to the floor. “Looks like some kind of snap connections were holding it in place, my lord. And it is a door of some sort, but I don’t see the way to opening this either.”

  Frances gasped when she saw the exposed door hinges. Halcombe spared her a glance, watched her sink into a nearby chair, and returned his attention to the carpenter.

  “Take the hinges off, Bolling,” Halcombe ordered, his gaze intent on the oblong panel now exposed. The hinges were easily removed, and he and Bolling lowered it to the floor.

  The small chamber behind it was empty, with the exception of a flat metal box. Halcombe stared at it in disbelief. Bolling stood beside him, wide-eyed and mouth agape. “Well, I’ll be…” the carpenter said softly.